Episode 11b, VS7.5 - Ragnarok 2
by Voyager Season 7.5
Summary: Great forces have been set in motion, and life on board Voyager will never be the same again.


Episode 11b  
Ragnarok II  
  
  
RAGNAROK PART II  
by Rocky  
  
Author's Note: 'Ragnarok' is a term from Norse mythology which means 'the  
day of doom' or alternatively, 'a dusk of the gods.' It refers to the end of  
the world as we know it, when the final battle between the forces of good  
and evil takes place. Unlike other cultures, the Norsemen believed that Evil  
holds the advantage, its triumph assured. The only thing that can possibly  
tip the balance is courage and heroism, a willingness to die for what one  
believes in.  
  
Acknowledgments: Once again I am deeply grateful to the 7.5 writers, in  
particular Christina and Penny, for their assistance. And most of all, to my  
wonderful (and fast!) beta reader m.c. moose.  
  
Warning: Some of the events depicted in part 2 may strike a disturbing note  
in light of RL current events. It is not my intention to cause any readers  
discomfort, but considering the scope of this story, that may be  
unavoidable.  
  
  
  
  
Prologue  
  
Smoke filled the air of the bridge. Damaged consoles crackled and sparked.  
Janeway stood amid the turmoil, staring at the heavily armored cube on the  
main viewscreen. The Borg's message hadn't varied over time; more than once  
Voyager's captain had stood in this very spot and heard those ominous words.  
  
"We are the Borg. Your vessel will be assimilated, your biological and  
technological distinctiveness added to our own. Resistance is futile."  
  
Only one of the cubes that had unexpectedly emerged from the conduit had  
remained to engage them in battle. The others had immediately taken off to  
God knows where, perhaps to rendezvous with the main fleet that was heading  
this way, less than 16 hours away from their current position. But even one  
cube was sufficient to wreak havoc aboard Voyager.  
  
The first shot penetrated their regular shields as if they weren't even  
there--it was only the secondary Zornon reinforcements that had afforded the  
Federation vessel any protection whatsoever. The Borg had the upper hand in  
defensive capabilities as well; despite the modulating frequencies,  
Voyager's phasers glanced off the cube without having any discernible  
effect.  
  
"Report!" Janeway ordered without turning around. Behind her she heard the  
controlled chaos as Kim fought to reroute his board and Tuvok strove to  
return fire and keep them one step ahead of the onslaught.  
  
"Hull breaches on decks 11, 3 and 14," Kim announced at last. "Emergency  
forcefields are holding. A conflagration on deck 6 is being brought under  
control. Reports of injured arriving in Sickbay...13 casualties, status  
ranging from moderate to critical."  
  
Janeway moved over to the tactical station. She was peripherally aware of  
Chakotay and Ensign Mulcahey frantically working on one of the sizzling  
consoles, trying to contain the damage. Onscreen, the cube could be seen  
firing again. "Helm, evasive maneuvers, pattern 'Sigma One.'"  
  
"Aye, Captain." Paris' hands flew over his controls, but the ship did not  
respond as expected. "She's sluggish--I need more power."  
  
The captain slapped her comm badge. "Janeway to Engineering." There was no  
response. Damn. Either communications were going down, or all hell had  
broken loose down there. "Engineering! Come in, please."  
  
A few heartbeats later there was finally an answer. "Engineering. Lieutenant  
Nicoletti here."  
  
Nicoletti? Where was Torres? At the helm, Paris stiffened but didn't take  
his eyes off his station.  
  
"Engineering, reroute more power to helm!" Janeway said, struggling to  
remain upright, as Voyager rocked once more.  
  
Again there was a delay, but at least his time the chief engineer herself  
answered. "Sorry, Captain," said Torres. "You can have full impulse power at  
helm, or you can have weapons. I can't give you both."  
  
"Acknowledged." Janeway's mouth tightened. She looked at Tuvok, and inclined  
her head toward the grid displayed on his console. "Any success at  
penetrating their armor?"  
  
"Sensors indicate a slight weakening here--" Tuvok indicated a specific area  
"--near the central plexus. However, shield integrity at that spot has only  
dropped 18%. We would need an additional drop of 36% before our weapons  
could have any noticeable effect."  
  
Not for the first time Janeway wished for one of the tri-cobalt devices  
Voyager had been equipped with seven years earlier. But they had used up  
their limited supply almost immediately--in the destruction of the  
Caretaker's Array, and beating off the early waves of Kazon attacks--and  
that was that. Might as well wish for some corbomite.  
  
"Too bad we can't just ask them to lower their shields for us," muttered  
Paris as he continued to struggle with the helm. Although still tense, he'd  
relaxed visibly when his wife's voice had been heard over the comm. Janeway  
also noted that despite the adverse conditions, he'd managed to increase the  
distance between themselves and the attacking vessel.  
  
"Why can't we?" asked Chakotay, returning to his seat. "Get them to lower  
their shields, I mean."  
  
Janeway's head snapped up. "Why not, indeed." She rushed over to Ops.  
"Harry, let's try to disrupt their internal communications."  
  
Kim caught on quickly. "I could send a jamming message via the transceiver  
frequencies we've recorded the Queen using on previous occasions."  
  
"Exactly," said Janeway. "On a cube that size, we're bound to find some  
faint resonance. We should be able to slow down their response time, at the  
very least. Even if it's only nanoseconds, that can give us the opportunity  
we need. Tuvok, stand by to fire on my mark."  
  
"Understood, Captain," the Vulcan replied. "Readying photon torpedoes."  
  
A minute or two later--Janeway no longer trusted her sense of time  
passage--Kim reported, "It's working, Captain! Their shields are weakening"  
  
The captain didn't hesitate. "Tuvok, now!"  
  
At Tuvok's command, a barrage of photon torpedoes streaked toward the cube.  
They slammed against the same vulnerable spot in rapid succession. "I'm  
reading a power surge near the main processor," Tuvok announced.  
  
A reddish glow blossomed in the upper right hand corner of the cube. "It's  
going to blow!" Chakotay said an instant later.  
  
"Tom, get us--" the rest of Janeway's words were lost as a brilliant  
explosion lit up the darkness. The bridge rocked as the cube's debris  
bombarded Voyager. Mercifully, the overstrained shields held.  
  
When the shaking subsided, Janeway glanced at the image of the cube once  
more. A gaping hole was revealed in the upper corner of the Borg vessel,  
with smaller craters pitting the surrounding areas. The entire cube was dark  
and lifeless against the backdrop of stars. Janeway heaved a sigh, but not  
one of relief.  
  
"You did it again, Captain," Paris said, his voice less steady than usual.  
"Pulled another rabbit right out of that hat."  
  
Janeway ran a hand through her disheveled hair. "Unfortunately, we're  
running out of rabbits," she said, more sharply than she intended. "We won't  
be able to use that trick again."  
  
"Which may have been the aim of this attack," Chakotay said thoughtfully.  
  
Tuvok agreed. "This was most likely a feint on the part of the Collective,  
to test our ability and weaponry."  
  
Janeway smiled grimly. "Well, gentlemen, if that was a test, the final  
exam's less than 16 hours away."  
  
  
Act I  
  
Tuvok stood in front of the main display screen in Astrometrics, preparatory  
to briefing Voyager's command crew and chief conn officer on the disposition  
of forces for the upcoming battle. The importance of this briefing was  
underscored by General Korok's presence; the Klingon leader had just  
returned to the sector within the past hour.  
  
At Tuvok's nod, Lieutenant Megan Delaney, head of the department now that  
Seven was gone, keyed in a sequence of commands. A tactical map appeared.  
Small red icons representing Korok's forces were located in the lower right  
hand corner, moving slowly and seemingly at random. At a distance from the  
others, a group of motionless green blips--a fitting color choice to  
represent the Borg, Janeway thought--formed a cluster shaped vaguely like an  
arrowhead.  
  
"This display encompasses the entire Vigrid sector," Tuvok said. "General  
Korok has provided us with the warp signatures of his fleet so we can track  
the positions of the different ships."  
  
"So we can identify hostile vessels during the actual battle," Chakotay  
said, and gave a wry smile. "Before they announce their intentions by  
shooting at us, that is."  
  
"The positions of your allies are also important," Korok interjected,  
"knowing who is watching your back."  
  
"But we can already detect which vessels are still connected to the  
Collective," said Paris, studying the display carefully. As he watched, the  
green cluster moved closer.  
  
"Yes, Tom," answered the captain, "but what about unconnected cubes? Can we  
automatically assume they're on our side?"  
  
"Of cour--" began Paris, then stopped. "You mean some of the freed drones  
would actually fight for the Queen?"  
  
"As illogical as that would seem, Lieutenant," said Tuvok, "that is a  
possibility we must consider."  
  
"The 'pirates' and other renegades will doubtless fight for whichever side  
they think will net them the most advantages. In other words, pick the  
winning side," Chakotay said flatly. He didn't voice the obvious conclusion  
of who the victors were expected to be.  
  
"But their own self-interest is at stake!" Paris protested. Off to one side,  
ignored for the moment, Delaney gave a quick nod of agreement.  
  
Korok smiled, but it was not a pleasant expression. "In the long term,  
perhaps, but many of these *petaQ* are interested only in the short term  
benefits." A grudging respect entered his voice. "But at least they are  
willing to fight for what they want. By their presence, they announce that  
they are not cowards who shy away from battle."  
  
He brought his fist down with sudden force on the console in front of him.  
Janeway almost expected to literally see sparks fly. She quickly sought to  
defuse the situation; Korok had already held forth at great length about the  
cowardly behavior--as he saw it--of Axum, who several months ago had turned  
down Korok's request to join his venture. Fortunately, Korok did not seem  
inclined to harp on Janeway's own earlier refusal, apparently 'forgiving'  
her in light of Voyager's current involvement. "Back to our discussion of  
tactics and vessel deployment, General," she reminded him.  
  
The Klingon warrior took the hint. He knew as well as she did that time was  
a precious commodity, and one they did not have in abundance. Four hours had  
elapsed since Voyager had first received Korok's message about the approach  
of Collective's fleet, leaving them with at most another 12 until the final  
battle would begin.  
  
With Delaney's assistance, Korok rapidly indicated and named each of the  
small red icons that represented the ships of his alliance. "My own ship,  
the Taj, will be in the vanguard here, flanked by the Ymir and Verandi,  
there." All of those were Borg cubes. Next were three tactical spheres.  
"Tyr, Surt and Fenris will make up the inner line of defense. Voyager will  
be positioned here as well." He then identified a series of alien vessels,  
from worlds Janeway did not recognize but knew to be natives of the Vigrid  
sector.  
  
Korok had done a tremendous amount of work toward building a coalition, she  
realized. It was no accident that he had planned to make his last stand  
here. Another set of ships were indicated as being held in reserve, with  
still others taking up positions on the perimeter. Janeway was not paying  
close attention to the particular names, being more concerned with the  
overall placements and strategies, but the final name Korok uttered caught  
her attention.  
  
"Did you say the Trefla?" she asked.  
  
"Yes," said Korok. "A cube of freed drones. Their leader, a Vulcan called  
Sakat, contacted me a few days ago and asked to be part of our effort."  
  
Janeway's eyes met Chakotay's. She knew exactly what he was thinking--about  
whether or not to tell Korok of Voyager's earlier encounter with the Trefla.  
Chakotay lifted his brows questioningly. Janeway hesitated a long moment,  
then shook her head, the movement so slight as to go unnoticed by anyone  
other than her first officer. He could not fail to understand her meaning.  
  
Yes, the drones on board the Trefla had attempted to take over Voyager and  
had attacked a number of her officers. But that had been at the instigation  
of individuals like Cretia Finney, who were now dead. The forces of reason  
had prevailed, and it was unfair to continue harboring any bad feelings  
toward the survivors. Besides, with their clearly demonstrated hatred for  
the Collective, the Trefla drones were bound to be a valuable addition to  
the coalition. If things went according to Korok's overall plan, it was  
highly unlikely Voyager would have any contact with them during the battle  
itself. Chakotay sighed softly, but did not say anything.  
  
"So there you have it," Korok finished. "Forty two vessels of the  
Collective, versus 18 of ours. Fine odds, wouldn't you say?"  
  
"No, I would not," Tuvok answered, taking the Klingon bluster at face value.  
"In terms of sheer numbers of ships, we are outnumbered by 2.3 to 1. In  
terms of manpower, the odds are even higher---"  
  
Korok waved his hand dismissively. "Numbers are not important. What *is*  
important is the size of the heart in each fighter, his willingness to give  
his all, his very life if need be, to the cause."  
  
"And if we fail?" Delaney said suddenly, speaking for the first time.  
Janeway shot a warning glance at her, but Korok smiled.  
  
"Then it will be glorious to die in battle," the Klingon general said.  
  
"Thank you, but I plan on living," Janeway said. She turned to her officers.  
"No, the situation doesn't look good. Aside from the issue of our own  
survival, and that of the billions who inhabit this sector of space, this  
battle is going to determine the fate of the Borg once and for all. The  
Queen has obviously put all her forces in play. We cannot expect to do any  
less." She looked meaningfully at each of the people in front of her. "And I  
refuse to accept the notion of 'licked before we even begin.'"  
  
No one, not even Paris, had anything further to say. The meeting was over.  
  
Before accompanying Tuvok and Korok to the transporter room, Janeway spoke  
in a low voice to Chakotay. "I want all personnel of the alpha and beta  
shifts to get some rest in the hours we have before that fleet is expected  
to get here. Go to split shifts. Everyone is to have a minimum of four hours  
off, no exceptions."  
  
"Understood, Captain." He paused for a moment. "That speech of yours--"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I hope you plan on repeating it on shipwide speakers before we engage the  
enemy."  
  
"You honestly think the crew doesn't know what's at stake here?" she asked  
incredulously.  
  
"No, they know perfectly well what's at stake. Almost as well as they know  
that their captain isn't willing to concede defeat." He left without waiting  
for her to respond.  
  
"No, I'm not defeated," she said quietly to herself. "Not yet, anyway."  
  
Janeway was largely silent during the walk through the corridors. At her  
side, Tuvok and the Klingon general continued to discuss tactics for the  
upcoming battle. She listened with half an ear, but uppermost in her mind  
was a feeling of trepidation. She shivered. She didn't believe in  
premonitions, but the words of the ancient Terran writer, whose name was  
lost in the mists of antiquity, echoed with sudden urgency through her mind.  
  
And on that day of Ragnarok, the day of the last battle, the forces of  
evil shall declare war upon the gods, the forces of righteousness, and  
fight with them to mutual extinction. In this twilight of the gods, all the  
universe itself will fall to ruin, not merely the sun and planets and stars,  
but at the last, Valhalla itself, and all its warriors and deities. For no  
one can triumph against Fate--  
  
"'Fate often saves an undoomed man if his courage is good,'" Janeway  
murmured, scarcely aware she'd spoken aloud.  
  
Korok broke off his conversation with Tuvok in mid-sentence. "Exactly so,  
Captain. I was not aware that Terran philosophy so closely echoed our own."  
  
Janeway gave him a small smile. "That line was spoken by the old Norsemen,  
as they prepared to go into battle."  
  
"Then they must have been related to the Klingons," Korok answered. He  
stepped on the transporter pad. "Remember, *bIlujlaHbe'chugh  
bIQaplaHbe'*--if you cannot fail, you cannot succeed." He raised his fist in  
salute. "Till we meet in battle, or in Sto-Vo-Kor beyond."  
  
After he dematerialized, Janeway stared at the empty platform for a long  
moment. Tuvok raised a questioning brow, but said nothing.  
  
"I need to go to Engineering," she said at last. "See if we can get the warp  
engines back online ahead of schedule. But before I do, there is something  
you and I need to discuss."  
  
"Yes, Captain?"  
  
"It's about the nanoprobes..."  
  
***  
  
Lieutenants Rollins and Ayala stood at attention, waiting for their head of  
department to continue with the tactical and security briefing. Tuvok  
paused, aware they were looking at him expectantly. For an instant, instead  
of the living officers before him, he saw the face of one who was not there  
and never would be again.  
  
Strange that he should feel Ken Dalby's absence so keenly. The former Maquis  
had never been easy to get along with--Dalby had in fact seemed to take a  
perverse delight in trying to arouse the chief of security's ire--and Tuvok  
would not have automatically considered him when calling a meeting of his  
most trusted and dependable underlings. And yet, whenever a crisis arose,  
Dalby had always met it unflinchingly, and usually played a key role in  
conquering threats or repelling attacks. As he had when the Borg Queen's  
specially modified drones invaded Voyager two months earlier. Dalby had  
fallen in the battle to retake Engineering, an early casualty in the current  
round of hostilities with the Collective.  
  
A most uncharacteristic thought rose in Tuvok's mind as he looked at the men  
facing him now; he found himself wondering which of them would be next.  
  
"We have discussed distributing sidearms to each crew member," the Vulcan  
said, his voice carrying no hint of emotion. "A cache of the large  
compression rifles will be available on each deck near the turbolifts, in  
addition to the regular weapons lockers, in case of an intruder alert. Mr.  
Ayala, have you gone over the redundancy plans?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Ayala replied. He held out a PADD. "All the back-up systems are  
in place, forcefields fully charged and operational in case of hostile  
boarding parties as well as any hull breaches."  
  
"Very good." Tuvok gave a cursory glance at his checklist. "Mr. Rollins, is  
the self-destruct sequence functional in the event of a 'worst case  
scenario'?"  
  
To his credit, Rollins did not flinch as he discussed the current state of  
the last ditch defense mechanism. He then finished with a report on the most  
recent inspection of the ship's escape pods.  
  
Of course, Tuvok thought, they are thinking ahead in terms of survival, even  
beyond the destruction of the ship. Human resiliency, even in the face of  
almost certain death, never ceased to amaze him.  
  
"The next item on our list: phaser banks and photon torpedo complement."  
  
  
Act 2  
  
The Doctor snapped out commands in a controlled, yet hurried tone.  
  
"Icheb, I want you in the lab replicating as much of your nanovirus vaccine  
as possible--the same strain that we used aboard the Trefla."  
  
Icheb frowned. "We already have a sizable quantity available, Doctor. How  
much additional material do you require?"  
  
"About triple the volume we currently have in the stasis chambers. The  
entire crew must receive inoculations," Voyager's chief medical officer  
said. "Or in the case of individuals such as Ensigns Pierce and Gilmore--who  
have previously been treated--boosters to stimulate the basal level of  
nanoprobes present in their systems." Icheb nodded and went off to the labs  
without another word.  
  
The Doctor looked after him for a moment, weighing having another person  
working with the young man, but immediately decided against it . There were  
other pressing issues to be concerned with. Icheb would just have to manage  
alone until Naomi Wildman reported for duty in another three hours.  
  
He continued, "Ensign Gallagher, take the stocks we already have and begin  
administering the vaccine to the bridge personnel, then work your way down  
through as many decks as you can."  
  
"It will be very time-consuming to inoculate the entire crew one at a time,"  
Gallagher objected, her frown matching his. "What about using the ship's  
ventilation system as a method of dispersal?"  
  
"Not practical," he said tersely, glancing at his PADD. Then, "It would take  
even longer to first convert the virus into aerosol form. Individual  
inoculations are the best option. Oh, that reminds me, I need to speak with  
Lieutenant Torres about the feasibility of administering the nanovirus to  
the gel packs themselves. Ensign Redman--" he addressed the Life Sciences  
officer who had been 'drafted' for the current shift. "Ensign Redman, as  
soon as the next batch is ready, I want you to do the same, but starting  
from Engineering and covering the lower decks. In the meantime, you can  
administer neural suppressants--not nearly as effective a protection against  
assimilation, but it will do in a pinch."  
  
"What do you want me to do?" asked Sam Wildman calmly. "Should I administer  
inoculations as well? Or assist Icheb?"  
  
The Doctor shook his head. "Neither. I'm counting on you to make sure  
Sickbay facilities are prepared for large numbers of casualties. You know  
the drill. Check all equipment, see that it's in a state of readiness, and  
that trauma teams are standing by on their assigned decks. Do a quick  
inventory of plasma, stabilizing enzymes, coagulants and neural  
regenerators, and replicate anything that's in short supply."  
  
He quickly shooed them off to their respective tasks. Trish Gallagher was a  
regular member of the medical staff; eminently capable, he knew she would  
work as efficiently as possible. He had his doubts about George Redman; the  
man had served only a limited number of shifts on medical duty, but he could  
not spare Sam Wildman from Sickbay. It suddenly occurred to the Doctor that  
perhaps he couldn't count on Icheb's presence for an extended period of  
time. Doubtless Engineering would also be clamoring for his services before  
long.  
  
The Doctor would never admit it out loud, of course, but more than anything  
he wished Lieutenant Paris was there with him. Insubordinate attitude,  
inappropriate comments and all, as long as he could have his skilled  
assistance. But the Doctor knew that he wouldn't see Paris cross the  
threshold of Sickbay anytime soon, unless it was as a patient. Under his  
breath he muttered imprecations at whoever had thought that the ship's most  
skilled pilot would make a good Sickbay assistant cum field medic.  
  
The task the Doctor had set himself was inventorying his supplies of  
deassimilation drugs, in particular bragrahydrophortizine-L and  
ryanicdine-6. And zanamivir, he reminded himself; the broad-based antiviral  
was essential for combating the secondary infections that often set in once  
the cybernetic neural implants were disconnected. He just hoped he would  
have a chance to use them--not that he wanted Voyager to be boarded by  
hostile drones, but there was no denying that was a preferable outcome to  
the ship being destroyed completely. Surely it wasn't asking too much for  
him to hope that after the battle was over, he would have the time and  
facilities to try to correct any damage.  
  
As he worked, the Doctor continued to fret about the conditions in Sickbay.  
Lack of materials and medications, not enough personnel--there was *never*  
enough personnel. "Why is it always *my* department which gets short-changed  
each time?" he muttered, a bit louder than he anticipated. "I'm good, but  
not *that* good."  
  
Gallagher rolled her eyes. Redman made a sound that sounded suspiciously  
like a snort of laughter and was rewarded with a holographic glare. Redman  
hastily grabbed his medikit and hurried toward the door. He nearly bumped  
into Tuvok on his way out and stammered an apology.  
  
"As you were, Ensign," Tuvok said, stepping to one side. Redman and  
Gallagher quickly exited.  
  
"Commander," said the Doctor without looking up. "Unless this is a situation  
that requires emergency medical intervention, I would appreciate it if you  
would return at a later time. We're rather busy at the moment--"  
  
"I am aware of the time constraints, Doctor, and I assure you I am not here  
to waste either your time, or my own." Tuvok paused for a moment. "One of  
the reasons I am here is to check on your department's preparations for the  
coming battle."  
  
The Doctor stiffened as much as a hologram could. "I assure you, Mr. Tuvok,"  
he said in his iciest tones, "that my staff and I are taking all necessary  
steps toward that end." He broke off, noticing the expression of weariness  
that flitted across the Vulcan's face. "When was the last time you slept?"  
  
"I am in no need of any rest at the present," Tuvok said.  
  
"Come, come, Commander," chided the Doctor. "Need I remind you of the  
captain's directive? Despite your attempts to emulate one, you are not a  
machine, and unless I miss my guess, you've been on duty for too many  
consecutive hours already."  
  
The Vulcan shook his head, almost impatiently. "I have too many tasks that  
must be completed first. Among them is ensuring that the medical replicators  
are working at full capacity, producing the necessary nanovirus."  
  
"That's already being done, and I have people administering hyposprays to  
the entire crew." Curious, the Doctor turned to look at him once more, "Tell  
me, Commander, why are you involving yourself in something that is purely a  
medical matter?"  
  
"I am not referring to crew inoculations," Tuvok responded. "I require the  
nanovirus for a different purpose."  
  
"You mean--" the thought was so alarming the Doctor could not bring himself  
to finish, but Tuvok saved him the trouble.  
  
"Yes. For the preparation of specially equipped warheads for use against the  
Borg."  
  
"You're talking about bio-weapons!" the Doctor said, aghast. "The Treaty of  
Dadh'gab, of which the Federation was one of the principal signatory  
parties, specifically outlaws their use in warfare! Surely you're not  
serious."  
  
"Our options are limited, Doctor, our arsenal of effective weapons even more  
so. We must use everything we have at our disposal if we wish to survive."  
  
"Perhaps," the Doctor said grudgingly, but added, "Still, I can't help but  
feel it's more important to use the limited number of special nanoprobes for  
use as a preventive medicine and cure instead of as a weapon."  
  
Tuvok pulled himself up to his full height. "Doctor, as Chief Tactical  
Officer and Head of Security, I could make this an order."  
  
"There's no need to go to extremes, Commander," the EMH said in resignation.  
He reached out and picked up a case on the table nearby that Redman had  
forgotten. "These vials were supposed to be used for inoculations on decks  
10-15, however..."  
  
Tuvok stopped him. "Not the vaccine, Doctor. I require the earlier form of  
the nanovirus that Cadet Icheb developed." He didn't call it the 'lethal'  
variety, but they both knew that was all it was--a genocidal virus  
specifically designed to murder cybernetic-based lifeforms.  
  
The Doctor's hands clenched on the side of the cabinet. "That won't be  
possible. We never produced any of that strain once Icheb developed the  
newer, more benign form of the virus."  
  
"That statement is incorrect," Tuvok countered. He held out a PADD. "I have  
the specifications right here. How long will it take to produce the  
quantity needed to outfit between fifty and 100 medium-range warheads?"  
  
The Doctor made no move to take it. "How did you get that? I personally  
destroyed all of the records and purged the files from the computer."  
  
Tuvok said quietly, "I obtained a copy of the research some time ago, before  
your efforts at removal."  
  
The Doctor strove to control himself, though he was beside himself with  
rage. "Do you realize what it is you're advocating? A truly horrific form of  
murder. This virus doesn't simply kill drones--it dissolves their implants  
as well as any internal organs that happen to be nearby! It turns their own  
nanoprobes into ravening hordes, attacking and devouring every cell within  
reach!" He was shouting now, not caring if anyone else in Sickbay heard him.  
"How can you reconcile *that* with your Vulcan philosophy, Mr. Tuvok? Is  
torture now part of the Starfleet standard of operations?"  
  
Tuvok listened to the outburst with no change in his expression. When the  
Doctor at last spluttered to a halt, Tuvok said calmly, "We have no choice.  
The thought of causing such horrific deaths is not a pleasant one, but we do  
not have the luxury to consider any other alternatives. There *are* no other  
alternatives. It is kill or be killed, Doctor. The lives of Voyager's crew,  
her allies and the inhabitants of this sector, against the lives of the Borg  
Collective. What do you choose?"  
  
"That's not fair," the Doctor whispered.  
  
"No, it is not." Once more Tuvok repeated, "How long will it take to  
replicate sufficient quantities of the nanovirus?"  
  
Defeated, the Doctor said, "Six hours, plus or minus two. And that's with  
all the medical replicators working at full capacity."  
  
Tuvok's lips thinned. "By conservative estimate, the Borg armada will arrive  
in less than 8 hours. That barely leaves us with sufficient time.  
Replication is not the only issue; the medium must then be converted to a  
slurry of the proper density with which to equip the warheads." He seemed to  
come to a decision. "But that part of the operation does not directly  
concern you. I will dispatch a security detail to pick up the material. They  
will be the ones responsible for installing the payloads."  
  
"Yet the blood will be on all of our hands." The Doctor grabbed Tuvok's  
shoulder. "But why the lethal strain?" he protested. "Why not at least use  
the 'benign' virus? That will still accomplish what you want. It will  
disconnect the drones from the Collective and prevent them being  
reassimilated or susceptible to the Queen's commands." Almost pleadingly, he  
added, "What difference does it make which strain you use?"  
  
Tuvok remained unmoved. "Unfortunately, the lethal form of the virus is much  
hardier and works at an appreciably faster rate. We cannot take the chance  
that the warheads will malfunction. In all likelihood, we will not have more  
than one chance."  
  
The Doctor suddenly remembered that they were not alone in Sickbay. Sam  
Wildman was at the far side of the room, and Icheb was in the lab next door.  
They had probably heard every word of the argument. He remembered what Icheb  
had gone through during the initial development phase of the nanovirus, and  
knew the burden would be even harder on him now. If all went according to  
plan, he was going to be responsible for the slaughter of millions. Millions  
of drones just like he himself had once been, and but for a twist of fate he  
would still be numbered among them.  
  
Bitterly, the EMH wondered if Tuvok realized this as well, and if so, did he  
even care. But there was no fighting that cold and bloodless Vulcan logic.  
"All right, Commander, you'll have your nanovirus to make your bio-weapons,"  
he said, his tone clipped. "But I plan on registering a formal protest with  
the captain, once this is all over."  
  
Tuvok gave him a measured look. "I look forward to filing it with the  
captain personally, Doctor--when this is all over."  
  
***  
  
The Mess Hall was eerily quiet, despite the fact that a good three quarters  
of the tables were occupied.  
  
Sarexa filled a large teapot from the urn in the cooking area, then  
proceeded from table to table asking if anyone wanted a cup of marok, a  
Talaxian herbal tea that had been a favorite of hers as a child. She had  
vague memories of her mother using the brew to treat a variety of ills,  
ranging from skinned knees to hurt feelings. She hoped it would have the  
same soothing effect on the Voyager crew.  
  
Because of the unnatural silence--or the enhanced capabilities of her otic  
implant--Sarexa couldn't help overhearing snippets of hushed conversation as  
she made her rounds. The same somber themes came up time and time again.  
Yes, she decided, a pot of marok was definitely in order.  
  
The Parises were having dinner at a table in the corner. Sarexa listened for  
a moment, then decided against approaching them just yet.  
  
"Stop patronizing me, Tom! I don't like being treated this way."  
  
"All I said was that you need to try to relax a little, B'Elanna," her  
husband said. "Here, have something to eat." He scooped up a spoonful of  
stew and leaned forward. "Just a little taste. Come on--"  
  
She jerked her head away, causing the spoon to splatter onto the table top.  
"Now look what you've done!"  
  
He took a napkin and calmly wiped up the spill. "Look, I know you're not  
happy about being dragged away from your engines, B'Elanna, but you need to  
eat--and get some rest--if you want to be of any use later on."  
  
For a moment B'Elanna appeared to be wavering between further argument, or  
giving in to the sense of what he was saying. Her shoulders slumped. "You're  
right. And yes, I know that Engineering is in good hands, even if I'm not  
there."  
  
"Especially with the captain spending a few hours down there now," Paris  
said. "Carey and the rest are good, but Janeway's no slouch as an engineer,  
either. There are times when I'm convinced she's the only person on this  
ship who actually understands you when you go off on one of your  
'technobabble flights of fancy.'"  
  
B'Elanna's lips twitched. "Don't forget it was thanks to that 'technobabble'  
that we were finally able to get the warp drive back on-line." She quickly  
sobered. "I just don't like sitting around--I need to be doing something."  
She picked up her fork, and then put it down again almost immediately. "It  
helps keep my mind off...things."  
  
"I know what you mean," Paris said with a sigh. "When I'm going over  
schematics, or tactical maneuvers, I don't have time to think about the  
future, or dwell on how I wish--no, hope--that our daughter will have a  
chance to live free."  
  
"Or even to be born at all," Torres said, biting her lip. "I'm sorry, I  
don't mean to be so negative..."  
  
"Shh, it's all right." Paris picked up her hand and held it against his  
cheek for a long moment. "Yeah, I know what you mean," he said once again.  
  
The upcoming battle was clearly on the minds of others as well. Sarexa moved  
on to where the Wildmans were sitting. Mother and daughter were both very  
quiet, neither one seemingly interested in eating, but just picking at the  
food in front of them. They refused to try any marok, but Sarexa continued  
observing them out of the corner of her eye while she poured for the next  
table.  
  
Suddenly Sam reached out and clasped her daughter's hand. "I'm sorry, Naomi.  
I wish I had been able to do better by you."  
  
Naomi looked up in surprise. "What's that supposed to mean? Mom, I love you  
and I know that you love me. You've done the best you could for me--you  
always have since the day I was born. I'm not blaming you--for anything."  
She smiled. "It's been wonderful growing up here on Voyager. And as you said  
yourself, how many other children, either on Terra or Ktaria VII, have had  
the same kind of opportunities I've had?"  
  
Sam was obviously not in the mood to be comforted. "A starship is no place  
to raise a child," she said.  
  
Naomi shook her head emphatically. "I wouldn't trade places with anybody--no  
matter what happens in the future. I want you to know that, Mom." She took  
one more mouthful of stew, then pushed her tray away. "I've got to get  
going--my shift in Sickbay starts in 15 minutes."  
  
"Oh, I forgot to tell you, but there's been a change in the duty roster,"  
Sam said, her voice almost too casual. "I'll be taking that shift for you."  
  
"What? But you just got off duty, Mom. Aren't you tired?"  
  
"Not really," Sam said. "And anyway, I'm willing to bet you spent at least  
half your off-time reading instead of sleeping. Despite the fact that you're  
growing up so quickly, honey, you're still technically a child, and you need  
more rest than an adult."  
  
Naomi wasn't fooled. "This is about Icheb, isn't it?" she said, her voice  
rising precipitously. "Once again, you're trying to keep me from spending  
'too much time' with him. Why can't you just--"  
  
Sam interrupted. "No, Naomi, believe it or not that has nothing to do with  
it. Icheb isn't the reason I don't want you in the lab right now."  
  
"Then what is?"  
  
Her mother answered wearily, "Please, honey, just trust me on this."  
  
Harry Kim chose that moment to look up and wave from his table. "Hey,  
Sarexa, I'd love a cup of coffee."  
  
She set down her pot next to the PADD he was working on. "It's Talaxian tea,  
not coffee. Do you still want some?"  
  
"I'll try a little bit. At this point, anything hot will feel good going  
down." Kim took a sip and then his eyes widened. "This is good. I mean,  
*really* good."  
  
"You sound surprised," Sarexa said archly.  
  
Kim looked abashed for a moment. "Don't take this the wrong way," he said,  
"but over the years I've learned to be a bit cautious when it comes to  
Talaxian cuisine."  
  
Sarexa grinned despite herself. "You mean about Neelix's cooking."  
  
"Uh...yeah. Sorry." He hastily added, "But regardless, Neelix is a great  
guy--"  
  
"It's all right, Lieutenant," Sarexa cut in. "Actually, I'm still getting  
used to his cooking, myself." At Kim's look of astonishment, she went on,  
"Most of the dishes I've seen Neelix prepare are native to the southwestern  
regions of Rinax, whose chefs are noted for their use of robust flavoring. I  
was born on Talax Prime, and my mother didn't spice her dishes in quite the  
same way."  
  
"That explains it." Kim smiled appreciatively and held out his cup. "I'll  
have some more."  
  
As Sarexa leaned forward to give him a refill, she caught a glimpse of what  
was written on his PADD. Instead of the complex diagrams or equations she  
was expecting, she saw the words 'and if I don't make it, Marla, I just want  
you to know--'  
  
Sarexa blushed at her unintended breach of his privacy. She cleared her  
throat uncomfortably. "I'd better get back and see if Neelix has anything  
else for me to do in the kitchen." She hurried off, grateful that Kim wasn't  
aware of what had just happened.  
  
At the serving counter, Neelix was ladling more stew into Ensign Baytart's  
bowl. "There you are, Pablo."  
  
"Thanks, Neelix," Baytart answered. "This is great stuff. I'm glad you had  
enough for seconds."  
  
Neelix beamed. "You must be very hungry today, Ensign."  
  
"Actually, I was thinking I'm going to need some extra energy to make it  
through the next few hours. But not because of my regular duties." Baytart's  
hand hovered over the basket of fruit for a few seconds, before selecting a  
few purple berries. He popped them into his mouth and said thickly, "Now  
that Commander Tuvok has nixed the idea of having the Delta Flyer operating  
independently of Voyager in the battle, I'm going to do a stint in the  
engineering levels instead."  
  
"Engineering?" Neelix asked. "Those aren't your usual haunts. Isn't there  
something you could do at conn?"  
  
Baytart shrugged. "Culhane and Jenkins are slotted to back up Paris on the  
bridge. So I might as well pitch in where it's needed. You know they can  
always use some extra help in Engineering, especially now when we're going  
into this at less than optimum strength."  
  
"That's very commendable of you, Ensign."  
  
"Oh, I don't know about that. Everybody's just trying to do the best they  
can. See you later, Neelix." Baytart snagged a few more berries on his way  
back to his table.  
  
Neelix noticed her standing there then. "It looks like the morak was a  
success," he said, eyeing the empty pot.  
  
"Yes. The ones who tried it seemed to like it," Sarexa answered. She  
hesitated a moment. "I hope it helps."  
  
"You're talking about the overall mood of the crew, aren't you?" he said  
softly.  
  
Once more she paused, not wanting to give away any details from the  
conversations she'd overheard. "It seems as though a lot of them are  
expecting the worst."  
  
Neelix sighed heavily. "I can't say I blame them. And this waiting around is  
just terrible. I almost wish that the Borg would hurry up and get it over  
with already. Almost." He tried unsuccessfully to smile. "As morale officer  
I probably shouldn't say this out loud, but I'm scared, Sarexa."  
  
"I'm not."  
  
He looked at her in surprise. "You're not?"  
  
"Fear isn't the right word for what I'm feeling." She considered for a  
moment. "I don't know...maybe it's just--I'm resigned. Yes, that's it.  
There's no escaping the Collective. I knew it all along, but I tried to  
pretend that I could put the Borg behind me, could go on and have a normal  
life." She added with sudden bitterness, "But in the end, it was all a pipe  
dream."  
  
Neelix took her by the shoulders, his eyes intent on hers, no trace of his  
earlier fear remaining. "Don't say that, Sarexa. Don't even think it. You  
can't give up hope. You've got to believe that we're going to get through  
this. I've seen this ship and crew in some tight spots before, and this time  
is no different. I know Captain Janeway is going to do her absolute best.  
And I know she *will* succeed."  
  
Sarexa laid her head against his chest and felt his arms go around her. "I  
envy you, Neelix. How can you make yourself believe that everything will  
work out all right?"  
  
He stroked her hair comfortingly. "You just have to have faith."  
  
  
Act 3  
  
Chakotay paused outside the captain's door. He could hear her voice through  
the thick bulkhead, but it was too muffled to make out any actual words. He  
sighed in frustration--and not because he wanted to eavesdrop.  
  
He'd been pleased, if slightly disbelieving, when the computer informed him  
a short while ago that the captain had left engineering and was now in her  
quarters. Quite honestly, he'd expected her to have gone straight to her  
Ready Room or the bridge. But with six hours to go before the upcoming  
battle, he'd dared hope she was finally taking the opportunity to get some  
rest. So much for that hope.  
  
He signaled and the door opened immediately. He took a few steps into the  
room and stopped. Janeway stood with her back to him, gazing out the  
viewport.  
  
"--that the crew has acted with distinction. I close by respectfully  
requesting that Starfleet Command consider my recommendations and act on  
them accordingly. Janeway out." She turned and beckoned him further into the  
room. "Computer, end recording."  
  
He seated himself on her couch, after first looking around and ascertaining  
that there was no one else present. "Can I ask what that's all about?"  
  
"Message buoy to Starfleet," Janeway said briefly. She took one last look at  
the stars before coming to join him on the couch. "The course is preset so  
it will be in position to broadcast via the next datastream."  
  
*So your final report will make it to the Alpha Quadrant even if Voyager  
perishes*, Chakotay thought. Aloud, he said, "Sounds good to me." Something  
about her expression made him wonder if she'd included a personal message to  
her family as well, but he couldn't bring himself to ask, just as he  
couldn't comment on her reasons for launching the buoy in the first place.  
  
Instead, he kept his tone deliberately light. "I should have known you'd be  
disobeying orders--working when you're supposed to be resting."  
  
Her tone matched his as she said, "Captain's prerogative--surely you won't  
put me on report for ignoring my own directive."  
  
"Definitely a court-martial offense--" he started, then stopped at the look  
on her face. "Are you all right?"  
  
"No, I'm not," she snapped, all lightness gone from her manner. "I'm sitting  
here counting down the hours until that Borg fleet arrives. How do you  
expect me to feel?" She broke off as if abashed at her spurt of temper. Or  
perhaps it was regret at letting her mask slip and expressing her true  
feelings. She ran a weary hand through her hair. "Sorry."  
  
"No, I'm sorry. Stupid question."  
  
She didn't respond, but rose to her feet and started pacing. He could feel  
the tension radiating off her. "I've been racking my brains, trying to  
remember every inspirational speech I ever heard from my commanding  
officers."  
  
"Find anything helpful?"  
  
She gave him a rueful smile. "Not really. Nothing that seems relevant, at  
any rate."  
  
He nodded, trying to think of something to say. He decided silence was the  
wisest option.  
  
She didn't seem to notice. Suddenly, she began speaking again in a low and  
rapid voice, her head bowed, her chin barely visible above the collar of her  
turtleneck. She appeared to be directing her remarks to her own folded arms.  
  
"For the last ten hours, I've either been involved in briefings with various  
department heads, or else down in Engineering. The whole time, I've tried to  
downplay the situation, telling everyone--myself included--that this isn't  
much different from anything we've faced before. But you know what,  
Chakotay? I don't know who I'm fooling. Certainly not myself. I know what  
we're facing--and it's nothing like our recent experiences with the  
Collective. No, this is shaping up to be a lot more like what happened at  
Wolf 359. I was there, you know. I saw the devastation caused by just one  
cube. Forty ships--the cream of Starfleet!--wiped out, just like that." She  
gave a shaky laugh. "And here we are, about to confront odds far worse."  
  
Helpless, he watched her pace back and forth, her voice rising and falling  
in rhythm with her movements. He still didn't know what to say to her, or if  
she even expected him to respond. His gaze fell on her uniform jacket draped  
haphazardly over a chair back, as if carelessly tossed there and forgotten.  
He looked more closely and spotted her pips lying scattered on the floor,  
scarcely noticeable in the muted light.  
  
"I know that this is probably--" She took a deep breath, as if trying to  
compose herself. "We've had a good run, but now it's coming to an end. I  
don't want to accept that--I can't let myself accept it, because if I do I'm  
admitting defeat. And I can't do that, Chakotay, I simply can't."  
  
With a start, he recalled another conversation they'd had about an impending  
confrontation with the Borg. Facing an impossible choice between two  
dangerous adversaries, he'd presented her with what he considered the safer  
option. But she'd refused to take it, because to her it smacked of defeat.  
Of giving up. Many times since that long-ago day, he'd wished he could take  
back his words, or at least couch them in a way to make them more acceptable  
to her, to remove the sting. What could he say to her now? That she had made  
the only choice there was, to stand and fight against the vast power of  
Collective? That even if Voyager had been able to flee the area, she was  
honor-bound to remain and see this battle through?  
  
She wasn't looking to him for reassurance. No--what she was doing was  
steeling herself for what was coming next, rooting out and confronting all  
her fears, all her demons, in an attempt to exorcise them. Steeling  
*herself*. She didn't need him--from all appearances, she probably never  
had. So why was he here?  
  
The burst of self-pity fell away, as he saw with clarity that he was being  
given a rare glimpse of her innermost self--a privilege granted to very few.  
He'd always known that to the captain it was imperative to maintain the  
illusion of being in control, no matter the cost. His heart clenched. She  
who always felt she had to be strong for everyone else, who would never  
allow herself to exhibit any weakness in public, was in fact far more  
vulnerable than he'd been allowed to know. Or be in a position to do  
anything about.  
  
Abruptly, he stepped into her path, forcing her to stop midstride. For a  
long moment they stood staring at each other. There were purple shadows  
beneath her eyes, and a look of inexpressible weariness and anguish in the  
blue-gray depths themselves.  
  
"Kathryn..." Instinctively, he held out his arms, and wordlessly she slipped  
into them.  
  
He held her gently, almost afraid to breathe. The gesture had been born of a  
sudden impulse; all he'd wanted was to give her a friendly hug, some  
encouragement. Nothing romantic had been intended. And yet now that she was  
in his arms, he had trouble separating his concerns for her as a friend--and  
his captain-- from his innate reaction to her as a woman. The top of her  
head brushed softly against his cheek, and the scent of her perfume spun  
dizzily in his brain. Her breasts were pressed tightly against his chest. He  
had to fight the urge to lift her face to his, capture her mouth with his  
own.  
  
For a minute or two she relaxed against him, and then in one swift motion,  
she pulled back.  
  
He offered no resistance and stood frozen in place, his eyes fixed upon her  
face. Kathryn's eyes which had an instant earlier shone with  
emotion--gratitude or desire, he could not say--changed infinitesimally,  
hardened, and then he saw the captain's mask settle into place.  
  
The transformation saddened him, yet he knew it was inevitable. He knew she  
needed very badly to wrap herself up in her invincible armor, that it  
wouldn't be a kindness to drag her out now of all times. She needed that  
strength. As much as he longed to be her source of strength, he knew that it  
was not possible. As much as it would hurt him--and he could already feel  
the sharp stab of disappointment--he knew he had to let it be. To let her be  
the captain.  
  
She must have realized from his expression some of his inner tumult, as well  
as his decision not to interfere. She said quietly, "I was going to make a  
deck by deck tour of the ship--you know, check on the preparations."  
  
"I'm sure Tuvok has everything well in hand," he said, his voice almost  
normal.  
  
"I'm sure he has," she agreed, "but I need to do this. Besides, it's good  
for the captain to see and be seen at a time like this."  
  
Yes, it would undoubtedly be good for the crew's morale, and a way for her  
to give strength and encouragement to her people by example. "Then I won't  
keep you," he said.  
  
She started toward the door and then stopped, extended her hand to him.  
"Come with me?"  
  
Something tight inside his chest loosened, and he felt inexplicably relieved  
of a burden. "Of course," he said, his hand grasping hers firmly. "You know  
I'll always be by your side."  
  
***  
  
Janeway shifted uneasily in her seat on the bridge. For some reason, she  
could not get comfortable.  
  
She glanced at the viewscreen and froze. Three Borg cubes, not there a  
second before, were now heading straight at them.  
  
"Damn it, they're early!" Paris said. His hands flew over the console,  
sending Voyager on a series of evasive maneuvers.  
  
"Your comment is illogical," chided Tuvok. "There was no fixed arrival time  
for the Borg fleet; our estimate of their arrival time was only an  
approximation, based on--"  
  
"Gentlemen, this isn't the time or the place," Janeway cut in.  
  
"One more hour or two wouldn't make a difference," Chakotay added. "We're as  
ready as we're going to be."  
  
Janeway shot him a grateful look and she began snapping out orders. "Helm,  
come about, bearing 323 mark 4. Mr. Tuvok, target the lead cube and fire  
forward phasers!"  
  
No sooner had she spoken than an eerie green light swept across the bridge.  
The ship's speakers resonated with the enemy's voice. "We are the Borg. You  
will be destroyed. Resistance is futile."  
  
"We'll see about that," Janeway said. But her words were rendered hollow as  
the three cubes fired in unison. The ship jolted under the barrage.  
  
"Shields down to 30%, Captain," Kim announced, fear rising in his voice.  
  
"Fire phasers again!" Janeway said, rising from her seat.  
  
"No effect," Tuvok said calmly.  
  
"Then fire photon torpedoes."  
  
"No effect." The ship rocked viciously.  
  
Janeway lurched forward, unable to keep her balance. "Damn it, throw  
everything we've got at them!"  
  
Her head hit hard against the deck. Dimly, she heard a cacophony of voices.  
  
"No effect."  
  
"Shields failing, Captain."  
  
"They're locking onto us with a tractor beam!"  
  
Janeway cleared her head with a shake, but an annoying hissing sound  
persisted. Looking up, she saw a pale gray cloud descending from the ceiling  
vents. "What the hell is that?" she demanded.  
  
"It appears to consist of bio-matter, Captain," Tuvok reported. "A microbe  
of some sort....no, definitely a virus."  
  
*A Borg virus--where had she heard of that?* She cursed her inability to  
remember--this was important. Maybe if she got up from the floor she'd be  
able to think more clearly...  
  
Janeway rolled to her side and attempted to stand. Chakotay extended a hand,  
and she took it gratefully. But instead of warm flesh, she felt something  
hard and cold--his fingers were encased in fine gray metallic tendrils.  
  
Her startled eyes flew to his face. To her horror, she saw a starburst  
shaped implant erupt on his cheek. Then another, over his left eye. It  
obliterated his tattoo. Desperately, she tried to back away from the  
assimilation tubules extending from his hand, but she was trapped against  
the base of the command seat. They came closer, ready to plunge into her  
neck---  
  
"Noooooo!" she screamed, flailing her arms in a desperate last defense. They  
passed unimpeded through the air, and she was snapped into full wakefulness.  
  
Her heart pounding, she looked around and found herself lying on the couch  
in quarters. She hadn't meant to doze off, but obviously, her tired body had  
had other ideas.  
  
She gave a long shuddering sigh. *Only been a dream.* But a dream that had  
far too much potential to come true.  
  
Janeway got up, grimacing at the clamminess of her body. She glanced at the  
chronometer. She had more than enough time for a shower before she was due  
to return to the bridge.  
  
Act 4  
  
Janeway settled herself into her seat, looking around the bridge as she did  
so. Although she didn't expect anything less, she was pleased to see that  
all of her officers were in position. Alert and ready.  
  
"Long-range sensors are detecting the presence of the Borg fleet, Captain,"  
Tuvok said.  
  
Before Janeway could respond, Kim said, "We're being hailed by the Taj,  
Captain."  
  
Janeway looked over at Ops. "Open the channel, Lieutenant. Yes, General  
Korok?"  
  
"The enemy is approaching," Korok said. "Stand by. *Qapla!*"  
  
"Understood. Janeway out." She leaned back, stealing another quick glance at  
her seat console, which displayed the distribution of the Alliance vessels,  
as well as the main tactical strategies that Korok planned to employ.  
  
The closest ships positioned closest to Voyager were the Tyr and the Surt,  
both manned by freed drones, and the Kry'afe, a Haderi armed merchant  
vessel. Together they made up the inner line of defense. Korok's plan was to  
attack the Collective fleet at key areas, driving a wedge through the armada  
on both sides. Once that occurred, the Borg forces would be split into three  
smaller units which could be dealt with more easily. In theory anyway.  
  
"Open a shipwide channel," Janeway said. "All hands, this is the captain. We  
will be engaging the Borg fleet shortly." She thought of her earlier deck by  
deck tour of the ship with Chakotay. The mood of the crew was tense, but  
there was more than a bit of optimism mixed in. They had faith in each  
other, their ship and their captain. She couldn't afford to let them down.  
"I do not need to remind you what is at stake here. I know you will acquit  
yourselves well. And I would like to say now, for the record, how very proud  
I am of all of you, and that I consider myself very fortunate to serve as  
your captain."  
  
It was silent for a few moments after Janeway finished speaking. At her  
side, Chakotay nodded. She knew he disliked 'doom and gloom, prepare for the  
worst' speeches as much as she did. She was glad that her words met with his  
approval.  
  
"Estimated time of arrival of the fleet in twelve minutes, Captain," Tuvok  
reported. "All weapons systems armed. Shields at full strength."  
  
"Twelve minutes? They're early," Paris muttered.  
  
"Your comment is illogical, Lieutenant," chided Tuvok. "There was no fixed  
arrival time for the Borg fleet; our estimate of their arrival time was only  
an approximation, based on--"  
  
"Gentlemen, this isn't the time or the place," Janeway cut in, and then  
stopped short as a sense of deja vu swept over her. Next Chakotay would  
say...  
  
"One more hour or two wouldn't make a difference. We're as ready as we're  
going to be." Her first officer turned to her and said in an undertone, "Are  
you all right, Kathryn? Suddenly you're as white as a ghost."  
  
"It's nothing," she reassured him with all the bravado she could muster.  
  
"Multiple conduits opening directly ahead," Tuvok said, diverting her  
attention away from her nightmare. Her lips twitched briefly at the irony,  
but all traces of a smile were wiped away at the sight before her. The Borg  
armada had arrived.  
  
"All cubes," Janeway murmured, her gaze riveted on the main viewscreen.  
  
"I am also detecting a number of tactical spheres. However, the majority of  
the fleet does appear to consist of Class 4 battle cubes, with higher than  
average shielding densities," Tuvok reported. "There are indications that  
their weaponry and defense capabilities are not of uniform caliber."  
  
"How much of the fleet consists of linked vessels?" Chakotay asked, his  
interest apparently caught by the statement about inconsistencies among the  
Borg fleet.  
  
Kim fielded that question. "From the signals I'm picking up, it appears that  
approximately one third are not linked to the Collective."  
  
"And yet they're fighting for the Queen," Paris said with more than a trace  
of disgust in his voice.  
  
Janeway heartily concurred with that sentiment, but there was no point in  
dwelling on it. "Is there any sign of the Queen's specially modified  
drones?" The captain knew it was unrealistic to hope that the Borg Queen had  
terminated them after the earlier unsuccessful incursion against Voyager.  
They were undoubtedly present, somewhere among the enemy fleet. As was the  
Queen herself.  
  
As if brought on by the thought, Janeway's attention was drawn by a  
pyramid-shaped vessel, staying well back of the rest of the Borg forces. The  
sight of it inexplicably made her blood run cold.  
  
The two fleets, Collective and Alliance faced each other silently. They were  
still not quite within weapons range of each other. Still, it almost seemed  
that neither side wanted to fire the first shot. And then, an emerald-green  
beam lanced out from the tip of the pyramid-ship, striking the vessels that  
formed the vanguard of the Alliance.  
  
"Is that a weapon?" Chakotay asked sharply.  
  
"It appears to be a probe of some sort," Tuvok said, studying his display  
intently.  
  
The energy beam reached further, till it approached the inner line of  
defense, where Voyager was positioned. It came closer and closer to their  
location, and then all at once, the entire bridge glowed with an unearthly  
light.  
  
The image on the viewscreen changed. In place of the starfield, the Borg  
Queen appeared.  
  
A small smile played along her lips. "I've been waiting for you, Harry. I  
said we'd meet again, and I always keep my word. Remember that." Her silvery  
gaze shifted to Janeway. "That goes for you as well, Captain. Seven months  
ago I had you within my grasp, and I shall once again. Only this time you  
will know what assimilation truly means. In the final seconds of your meager  
individuality, that is. Afterwards, you will know only the mind of the  
Collective."  
  
Janeway's jaw clenched, but she kept her voice steady. Deliberately turning  
her back on the Queen, she said, "Lieutenant, cut off that transmission."  
  
"I'm trying, Captain, but it's not coming through our regular channels,"  
Harry said in dismay.  
  
The Queen laughed, a sound which was even more chilling than her earlier  
threats. "Yet another futile attempt, Janeway. But do not despair. It won't  
be long before you and your crew--what's left of them--achieve perfection."  
  
The glow receded, then vanished altogether. Almost as abruptly, the battle  
ensued. Weapons fire erupted along the front line, as ships from both sides  
surged forward to attack.  
  
"Message from the Surt, Captain," Kim said, referring to the Alliance ship  
positioned just off Voyager's port bow. "They're going in."  
  
"Acknowledged," Janeway said. "Helm, prepare to follow up on the Surt's run.  
Take advantage of any opening they give us." She leaned back in her seat,  
checking the tactical display once more. She returned her gaze to the screen  
in time to see a large cube bearing down on them.  
  
"Helm, hard about!" A moment later, the bridge rocked. "Return fire!" She  
was heartened to see that Voyager's phaser blasts were not deflected  
harmlessly. On the other hand, they didn't they prevent the cube from  
getting off another volley.  
  
"Targeting the weapons array," Tuvok said. A moment later, "Their weapons  
are off-line." Almost immediately, however, another vessel took its place,  
and Voyager was hit once more.  
  
"Shield status?" Janeway said.  
  
"Down by 8% but still holding," came the answer.  
  
"Mr. Kim, anything further on the ships nearby?" Chakotay asked.  
  
"From the readings I'm getting, the majority of the ships within a 500,000  
kilometer radius of our position are not linked," Kim said, his fingers  
flying rapidly over his console as he sought to correlate the data from the  
readouts and transfer it over to Tactical.  
  
"I concur," Tuvok said. "However, the Queen's ship is staying well behind  
the front lines, keeping the linked vessels in her immediate vicinity. It is  
possible the Taj will be able to cleave a path to get within range, but  
unlikely."  
  
For several minutes, the same scenario repeated over and over--fire, attempt  
to evade return shots, alter course, regroup, fire again. Nearby, other  
ships were engaged in the same macabre dance, with still others permanently  
sidelined--dead or crippled beyond repair. And yet they were no closer to  
their goal.  
  
Janeway frowned. "We manage to get some good shots off, but aren't able to  
follow up on our success."  
  
"More importantly, our only successes have been against the pirates. We're  
having no effect against the core of the Borg defense lines," Chakotay  
added.  
  
Janeway came to a decision. "Janeway to Korok."  
  
"Korok here."  
  
"We seem to have trouble executing our game plan, General."  
  
"So far. But do not give up so easily, Janeway. Our strategy is sound--it is  
only a matter of time until one of our vessels manages to penetrate their  
inner line."  
  
"In the meantime, we have lost eight Alliance vessels, and four others have  
shown a marked drop in performance," Tuvok pointed out.  
  
"We have destroyed twice that many enemy vessels," Korok said, his  
impatience very near the surface. "We will yet succeed!"  
  
Janeway sought to forestall any further argument. "Time is running out," she  
said firmly. "We need to implement the second phase. Now."  
  
***  
  
Voyager rocked under the steady barrage of weapons fire.  
  
"Voyager to Kry'afe. Come in please." Kim looked at Janeway. "No response,  
Captain. For all intents and purposes, they're dead in the water."  
  
Janeway's mouth tightened. The same thing had happened to the Tyr and Surt  
moments earlier. Voyager was on its own.  
  
"Without our escort, we're being deliberately targeted," Chakotay said  
grimly. He did not add that with each successive impact, Voyager's shields  
weakened further.  
  
Another boom. Paris swore under his breath, and slammed his hand into his  
console. "We just dropped out of warp. The engines are off-line."  
  
Before Janeway could react, the comm sounded. "Torres to bridge."  
  
"B'Elanna, how soon can you restore warp power?"  
  
"That's why I'm calling, Captain--we've got a problem," Torres said bluntly.  
"Our systems are badly stressed. These hits--they're concentrated at our  
most vulnerable areas. Conduits and relays are blowing faster than we can  
repair them."  
  
"Damn it!" Janeway took a deep breath. "Sorry. I know you're doing the best  
you can, Lieutenant." She refrained from saying that without warp  
capability, they weren't going to last much longer, let alone achieve their  
plan. Even if they could get close enough to the pyramid ship... "Janeway  
out."  
  
***  
  
Torres felt like swearing as well, but that wasn't going to do her any good.  
She turned to Vorik. "All right," she said more calmly than she felt, "We  
can't keep everything going, so let's concentrate on priorities."  
  
"Shields," he said at once.  
  
"Yes, as well as weapons, and life support," Torres said, rapidly  
recalibrating the isolinear nodes.  
  
"What about communications?" asked Carey.  
  
Torres hesitated. "I'd sooner concentrate on getting the warp drive back on  
line." She turned around. "Ashmore, start rerouting the GS-relays. Baytart,  
get to the upper level of the main engineering section and monitor the  
matter/anti-matter mix. We're going to try to hot-wire this thing."  
  
At Vorik's puzzled look, she added, "A twentieth century metaphor. Now get  
moving!" Torres moved over to a console near the main reactor. "Carey, I  
want you to call out the variances."  
  
***  
  
Another boom. Another fried console. Both were occurring with increasing  
frequency.  
  
"Phasers are off-line," Tuvok said.  
  
Not that they had been terribly effective up to that point, Janeway thought.  
"But we've still got torpedoes, don't we?"  
  
"Yes, Captain," Tuvok answered. "We have 15 regular photon torpedoes  
remaining. As far as the others are concerned--"  
  
Janeway gave a quick shake of her head. "No, we'll continue holding those in  
reserve for a while longer."  
  
Chakotay looked at her in surprise. "We're well past the point of 'tipping  
our hand' too early, Captain."  
  
"I'm aware of that, Commander," she said. "But unlike the photon torpedoes,  
these modified warheads have a much more limited range. We've got to get  
closer."  
  
"I don't see how that's possible," Paris objected, "without making ourselves  
even more of a target."  
  
Janeway bit her lip. "Harry, contact the Taj. Perhaps General Korok can  
provide us with the cover we need."  
  
***  
  
In the controlled chaos of main Engineering, it was easy to miss any unusual  
sounds. Possessing hearing far more acute than those of his fellow  
engineers, Vorik looked up sharply at the unmistakable whine of overstrained  
metal. But where was it coming from?  
  
Suddenly, the suspension bridge leading to the upper reaches of Engineering  
shook violently. "Ensign Baytart!" Vorik yelled, just as the catwalk under  
Baytart began to sway and then, without any further warning, gave way  
completely.  
  
Instinctively, Vorik threw himself at Torres, knocking her down and  
shielding her with his body. Shards of metal and other debris rained down.  
When it subsided, Vorik got to his feet, ignoring the trickle of blood on  
the side of his head. He held out his hand to Torres.  
  
"Are you all right, Lieutenant?" he asked, helping her up.  
  
Torres nodded shakily. "I think so. I don't think I hurt the baby--" She  
broke off as she turned around and saw the mound of debris partially  
covering Baytart's twisted body. "Kahless, Pablo!"  
  
Carey and Nicoletti were already digging frantically through the rubble,  
assisted by Ashmore who'd been working very close to where the catwalk had  
come down. "He's still breathing!" Joe yelled a few seconds later. " Should  
I--"  
  
"No," Torres said. "Don't touch him. Spinal injuries shouldn't be moved --"  
She hit her comm badge. "Trauma team alpha, report to Engineering." She  
looked pointedly at Beth Ashmore. "In the meantime, we don't have any time  
to lose--back to your stations! We've got to get these systems back up!" The  
ensign took the hint and got back to work.  
  
George Redman came rushing in, and knelt down next to Baytart, medical  
tricorder already in his hand. "His lifesigns are very weak--I'll need to  
stabilize him before calling for a site-to-site transport to Sickbay." He  
took out a hypospray.  
  
Torres nodded. Her attention was caught by a readout indicating power surge  
in a nearby system. "Ashmore, that console--"  
  
Anything further was lost in the explosion.  
  
***  
  
"I've located the Queen's ship," Tuvok said. "Relaying the coordinates to  
the Taj."  
  
Kim interjected, "Captain, reports of an explosion in Engineering!"  
  
"Janeway to Engineering. B'Elanna, what's going on down there?"  
  
"Torres here. The GS-relays--" The rest of her reply was drowned out in  
static.  
  
Janeway turned to Tuvok. "Any indication of what caused that?"  
  
"Negative, Captain," Tuvok replied. "In addition, the last hit we took  
caused a hull breach on deck 4. Emergency forcefields appear to be holding  
so far. However, we have lost all remote computer functions on decks 3 and  
4."  
  
"The torpedo launching bays are located there." Janeway felt like slamming  
her head against the nearest bulkhead. So far everything that could go  
wrong, had. "If we can't launch the warheads--"  
  
"That is not necessarily the case, Captain," Tuvok quickly said. "I believe  
it can still be accomplished manually."  
  
"Good thinking, Tuvok," Chakotay said, getting to his feet. "I'll get right  
down there."  
  
Tuvok held up a hand. "As chief Tactical Officer, I am more qualified to  
perform this task."  
  
"But as first officer--" Chakotay started to say.  
  
"Enough." Janeway considered the two officers standing in front of her. No  
one knew better than she the precarious position of whoever she would send  
to the torpedo bays. That man's life would be in jeopardy, but on the other  
hand, so was the entire ship. If there was a chance that they could still  
snatch victory from the jaws of defeat, it had to be done.  
  
The only question was which officer would she be consigning to danger--her  
oldest friend, or her closest one. Angrily she brushed that thought from her  
mind. There was no room for sentiment here; she had to select the man most  
qualified to carry out that duty.  
  
"Chakotay." At the sound of his name, the first officer smiled, confident  
that he'd been selected. Janeway pressed on doggedly. "Chakotay, I'm sorry,  
but I need you on the bridge. Tuvok, get down there as quickly as possible  
and bring those launchers back on line."  
  
***  
  
Neelix looked around the deserted Mess Hall. In the dim light, the freshly  
scrubbed counter shone, as did the metal saucepans hanging on the wall.  
There was no real work to be done; in the midst of a battle, it was unlikely  
anyone would drop by for a hot drink or a bite to eat. Afterwards--provided  
there was an afterward, of course--hordes of crewmen would descend on the  
place, hungry for company as well as food. But for now, he had the place to  
himself.  
  
Neelix caught himself on a sigh as the red alert beacons continued to flash.  
Truth be told, he had always felt superfluous during situations such as  
these. For all his enthusiastic participation in cross-training and  
departmental drills, Neelix was very much a civilian at heart.  
  
According to regs, non-essential personnel were not supposed to be moving  
through the corridors during an emergency. But unable to continue facing the  
trepidation in Sarexa's eyes--the same trepidation that he feared was  
reflected in his own--he'd left her and made his way back to the Mess Hall.  
Oddly enough, just sitting here made him feel better.  
  
Periodically, the room would shake; Neelix assumed those times coincided  
with weapons fire impacting and then being deflected by Voyager's shields.  
It occurred to him that the shaking was becoming more severe. He didn't know  
how the battle was progressing, but perhaps this was an indication that  
things were not going as well as they should.  
  
He shifted uneasily, feeling the unaccustomed weight of the small level-2  
phaser he'd been issued pressing against his hip. He envisioned drones  
invading the Mess Hall, with only this weapon to fend them off. Somehow he  
didn't think his chances of survival were increased by his being armed.  
  
A pot lid on the counter began trembling. As Neelix watched, it skittered  
off the edge and fell with a resounding clang on the floor. Just then, a  
particularly loud bang made him look up. A few seconds later, he found  
himself face down on the floor.  
  
He picked himself up. "Computer, what was that?"  
  
"Please specify."  
  
"That boom! What caused it?"  
  
The unemotional mechanical voice answered, "A hull breach has occurred on  
deck 4."  
  
The Mess Hall was on deck 2. The Talaxian frowned. Was that close enough  
proximity that he would be able to feel the reverberation of the impact  
through the bulkheads? Neelix knew the ship's layout, could tell without  
consulting a schematic, where everything was located. It was something he  
prided himself on--and used in his favor to lobby for a posting to the  
security staff.  
  
Deck 4...his first reaction was that it somehow involved the transporter  
room. Unbidden, the image of Borg transporting onto Voyager popped into his  
mind. Almost immediately, he rejected it--the drones would beam directly  
onto key decks, like the bridge--and they wouldn't need Voyager's  
transporters to do it.  
  
What else was there? There were the aft torpedo launchers, but those were  
more properly situated between decks 3 and 4... Of course! That explained  
why he felt the impact!  
  
"Computer, what is the status of the aft torpedo launchers?'  
  
"Those systems are off-line."  
  
That was all the confirmation he needed. Without stopping to wonder how he  
knew, Neelix guessed that Captain Janeway would dispatch someone to attempt  
to correct the problem. "Whoever it is may need some help," he said aloud,  
and without a backward glance, he left the Mess Hall.  
  
He hesitated in front of the turbo-lift. Probably not a good idea; in case  
of a power failure, he could be trapped inside. And his destination was only  
one level down--that shouldn't be too difficult. He unscrewed the hatch of  
the Jefferies tube, and began his descent.  
  
Billowing smoke greeted him when he exited the tube. Neelix hesitated,  
unable to see clearly, and unsure of where he should go. The trouble was, he  
wasn't used to traversing the ship by anything other than the corridors.  
Where were the launching bays located? *First I'll try to the right*, he  
said to himself.  
  
He had advanced perhaps twenty meters when he came up against a glowing  
barrier. A containment field, which meant a hull breach lay beyond that  
point. He doubled back, stopping only long enough to tear a strip of cloth  
off the hem of his long overjacket and wind it over the lower part of his  
face. It was becoming difficult to breathe.  
  
He retraced his steps until he stood beside the Jefferies tube opening once  
more. He hesitated--what if there was another forcefield in that direction?  
No sense in worrying about that now, he reminded himself. The thing to do  
was to go ahead and hope he'd be able to get through.  
  
Ten meters beyond the Jefferies Tube, he reached his destination.  
  
Neelix stopped short once again, appalled by the sight in front of him. The  
smoke was heavier here, blacker, and he could see leaping flames in the area  
beyond.  
  
"Hello?" he called. "Is anyone in there? Do you need help?"  
  
There was no answer, but Neelix was sure he'd caught a glimpse of someone  
moving. He moved forward cautiously and called again. "This is Neelix! Is  
anyone inside?"  
  
A figure in a black and gold uniform turned toward him.  
  
Neelix felt his stomach lurch. "Tuvok!"  
  
There was no response. Perhaps Tuvok hadn't heard him--the fire was roaring  
loudly, and the Vulcan appeared to be concentrating on his task.  
  
Throwing caution to the wind, Neelix came closer. "Tuvok! You've got to get  
out of there!"  
  
At last Tuvok lifted his head. "I must finish what I came here to do."  
  
"This place is a death-trap, Tuvok!"  
  
"I cannot leave--" Neelix watched in horror as a nearby bulkhead collapsed.  
A large beam fell across Tuvok's back, knocking him to the floor.  
  
Neelix rushed forward. The heat was even more intense, and the flames were  
rapidly coming closer. He blinked away the sweat rushing down his forehead  
into his eyes. "Tuvok!"  
  
The Vulcan's eyes opened. He jerked his head weakly toward the console.  
"Activate..."  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"Activate the main..." Tuvok's eyes rolled up and his head fell backward.  
  
Neelix gave a hasty glance at the console where Tuvok had been working. The  
screen was lit up with the words: "Manual system armed. Awaiting  
activation." He pressed the control underneath it, and heard the steady hum  
of a torpedo casing sliding into position.  
  
"You succeeded in your mission," he said. "Now I need to succeed in mine."  
  
With all his might he shoved at the heavy beam, but it wouldn't budge. He  
tried again, harder, but for all his effort it moved only a few centimeters.  
"Come on," he said to himself. "I'm a Talaxian with 'dense musculature' as  
Seven once said. I've got to be able to do this!"  
  
He fell back, panting from his exertions, and then saw a smaller piece of  
debris lying nearby. He eased one end under the beam, and pushed down. The  
lever worked; the beam lifted, and Neelix was able to drag Tuvok out by his  
boots.  
  
Neelix bent down, draped one of Tuvok's arms around his neck and attempted  
to pull him to his feet. The Vulcan was still unconscious; plus, he was  
heavier than Neelix had expected. He wasn't able to lift him, but by a  
combination of pushing and dragging he was able to gradually get him back  
into the corridor.  
  
Neelix paused, breathing heavily. His throat felt raw, and his eyes were  
watering. Squinting down at his hands, he saw they were red and  
shiny-looking. He reached up to tap his communicator. "Neelix to Sickbay!"  
  
There was no response. Communications must be down.  
  
He peered into Tuvok's face, unsure of what to do next. Tuvok was still  
unconscious, which Neelix reflected, was probably for the best considering  
how extensive his injuries were. Tuvok's uniform was in tatters, parts of it  
burned away completely. The exposed flesh was an angry-looking dark green.  
Neelix fought down a wave of nausea.  
  
He tried his comm badge again, and once again, there was no response.  
  
Sickbay was on deck 5. Neelix slumped wearily against the cover of the  
Jefferies Tube, and wondered how in the world he'd be able to get Tuvok  
there, alone and unaided.  
  
  
Act 5  
  
Janeway stared at the comm, willing it to come to life. "Tuvok, do you read  
me?"  
  
"There's too much interference," Kim said. "Communications are still down."  
  
"Status of torpedo launchers?"  
  
"Still inoperative," said Ayala, who had taken over the Tactical station as  
soon as Tuvok had left the bridge.  
  
"I want to know the instant they're back up," Janeway said. She reminded  
herself to be patient. One good thing at least--there were no Collective  
vessels in their immediate vicinity.  
  
Suddenly, the bridge shook again, much harder than it had previously. "What  
the hell was that?" she said, fighting to maintain her seat.  
  
"We're being fired upon," Ayala said, though that was patently obvious.  
  
"By whom?" Chakotay asked sharply.  
  
"The shot came from right off our port bow....it's one of the Alliance  
ships," said Ayala, disbelief in his voice. "Whoever they are, they knew the  
exact frequency of the shield harmonics to hit."  
  
Chakotay called up the sensor data, and stared in disbelief. "Spirits, it's  
the Trefla."  
  
"Open a channel," Janeway said. She stood up, fists resting on her hips.  
"Sakat, what in the name of the Great Bird do you think you're doing?"  
  
But the visage that appeared was not the one they had expected to see.  
"Sorry, Captain," said the tall orange-skinned man facing them, "but that  
Vulcan fool Sakat is no longer in command here. I am now the leader."  
  
"Nelem!" said Chakotay, recognizing him as one of Cretia's followers. He'd  
thought all of them had been apprehended after the attempt to take Voyager  
had failed. "Are you crazy? We're in the middle of a battle!"  
  
"Yes, but not the one you think."  
  
"You're mad," Janeway said. "We're in the midst of a life and death  
struggle-"  
  
"No, I'm a lot saner than you think," Nelem interrupted, with a malicious  
smile. "What do I and my followers care about the fate of the Borg  
Collective? You're a fool, Janeway, for getting involved, but it's fortunate  
for me that you did. I'm prepared to make you an offer--surrender your ship  
to me."  
  
"The answer is no."  
  
Nelem's smirk grew more pronounced. "Voyager is more valuable to me whole,  
but make no mistake, Captain--I won't hesitate to destroy you if need be.  
Yes, I want your technology, but revenge--for what you did to me--has its  
rewards as well."  
  
"The Trefla is powering weapons once again," Ayala said. Voyager rocked  
under the impact.  
  
No weapons, Janeway thought grimly. No warp drive. Nothing left in the bag  
of tricks. There was no way in hell they were going to get out of this one.  
  
A sudden flash on the screen made her start in surprise. A phaser blast,  
fired by a ship newly arrived on the scene, had caught the Trefla broadside.  
Several more volleys followed, until the Trefla was completely destroyed.  
  
Janeway let out her breath explosively. "Thank you, Korok."  
  
***  
  
On the bridge of the Taj, Korok sat and considered his options. The battle  
was not going well. With each passing moment, the chances of success seemed  
even more remote. The center line was showing signs of caving in. Very soon,  
the Queen would take advantage of that weakness, and move in for the kill.  
  
"But why hasn't she done so already?" he wondered aloud.  
  
Roju looked up from the gunner's station. "General?"  
  
"The Borg Queen. She has us by the throat--why hasn't she moved in to make  
the kill yet?"  
  
"Perhaps her grasp is less sure than we have been led to believe."  
  
"Of all the foolish---" suddenly Korok broke off. He remembered the reports  
from Voyager, about the Borg raid on their ship months ago. It had been  
carried out by specially modified drones, ones with amplified connections to  
the Queen's consciousness. While providing her with drones rendered  
incorruptible and more powerful than ever, it had nonetheless overtaxed her  
resources, and hampered her overall responsiveness. Could the same thing be  
happening now?  
  
His mind raced further. Why not? The Borg making up the Collective forces  
were a diverse group, ranging from ordinary drones whose links had not been  
severed, to renegades who had been freed months earlier and yet by means of  
bribery or threats, had been persuaded to fight for the their former master.  
Added to the pressure created by the existence of the special drones, and it  
was entirely possible the Queen's resources were stretched too thin, and  
hampered her in battle.  
  
"Send a message to Janeway," Korok said to his communications officer. "Tell  
her to prepare to launch her nanovirus attack on the Queen's ship  
immediately. We'll be right behind her."  
  
***  
  
"I need some help here!" Neelix yelled, or tried to, as he stumbled through  
the Sickbay doors. But his voice wasn't working very well; his words came  
out as a rasp. He couldn't muster up enough breath for a second effort.  
  
The Doctor looked up from the patient he was working on, glancing from  
Neelix's soot-smeared clothes to Tuvok's badly burned body. "Good heavens,  
Mr. Neelix, what happened?"  
  
"Fire, torpedo bay," Neelix gasped. "Tuvok--"  
  
Immediately two of the medical staff came rushing forward and moved the  
Vulcan officer to a biobed. "Ensign Wildman, take over for me," said the  
Doctor and hurried over to the new patient. The diagnostic arch extended,  
shielding Tuvok from further view, as the Doctor began snapping out orders.  
"Mr. Lessing, I need--"  
  
But what it was, Neelix did not hear. The whole room began to spin before  
his eyes. He lurched forward and would have fallen, but someone caught him  
and led him over to a vacant biobed. Through a blur, he recognized the  
features of Trish Gallagher.  
  
"Just try to relax now, Neelix," she said, waving a diagnostic wand over  
him. She frowned. "You've got some bad burns on your hands and arms, but  
it's your blood gasses I'm worried about." He heard the hiss of a hypospray.  
"I'm giving you something for the pain, as well as a dose of tri-ox. It'll  
help your breathing."  
  
He resisted her attempts to make him lie back. "Tuvok. How is he?" he  
whispered, though his throat hurt terribly.  
  
"Shh. Don't try to talk," she said, wiping his face with a damp cloth, and  
then holding a cup of water to his lips. "Tuvok is in pretty bad shape, but  
not so far gone that he couldn't enter into a healing trance. It's not very  
effective against such extensive injuries, but it's preventing further  
damage from occurring."  
  
Neelix remembered how Tuvok had lost consciousness while he was trapped  
under the fallen beam. "He's not in a coma, then?"  
  
"No. And after he's stabilized, the Doctor will place him in a regeneration  
chamber." Gallagher finished running the dermal regenerator over the worst  
of Neelix's burns. "That's about all I can do. You need to lie still,  
though. Are you still having as much trouble breathing?" At his nod, she ran  
another diagnostic. "Your blood gasses haven't picked up, despite the  
tri-ox. I'm going to have to put you on artificial respiration until the  
Doctor has a chance to look at you."  
  
After a few minutes, Neelix began to feel a bit better. Whatever Gallagher  
had given him seemed to be working. He attempted to sit up, although it made  
it harder to breathe. Holding the respirator mask tightly to his face,  
Neelix glanced around the room. His gaze fell on the bed next to him.  
  
"Ensign Baytart?"  
  
Immediately, Gallagher was back at his side. "Neelix, you need to lie down!"  
  
"But Pablo...how is he?"  
  
Gallagher shook her head sadly. "I'm afraid the prognosis isn't very good,"  
she said softly.  
  
***  
  
"Captain, the torpedo launchers are back on-line!" Ayala reported.  
  
"Janeway to Tuvok. I don't know how you pulled it off, but you did it!"  
  
And not a moment too soon. The pyramid ship was in range, but standing  
between them and the Queen's ship was a large cube.  
  
The captain leaned forward. "Prepare to fire on my order."  
  
"Incoming transmission from the Taj," Kim said.  
  
Janeway nodded and soon Korok's voice was heard. "Janeway, it has been an  
honor to fight by your side. Go forth now to victory!" There was a muffled  
shout in the background.  
  
"The Taj is accelerating, Captain," Kim said.  
  
Onscreen, they watched as the Borg cube moved toward them on an intercept  
course. Korok spoke one last time.  
  
"Today is a good day to die," he said simply. The Taj rammed headlong into  
the cube. The resulting explosion was so bright, Janeway had to look away  
from the viewscreen.  
  
No time now to mourn the fallen warrior. Korok's sacrifice had left Voyager  
with a clear shot at the Queen's vessel.  
  
"Mr. Ayala, fire torpedoes!"  
  
Three specially modified torpedoes, bearing their deadly weapon, slammed  
into the Queen's vessel.  
  
"Direct hit."  
  
The Queen's ship seemed to shimmer, then imploded on itself. Another  
brilliant flash lit up the viewscreen.  
  
But even with the Queen destroyed, the battle was not yet over.  
  
"Target another enemy vessel, Mr. Ayala. Fire."  
  
They kept it up till there were no more torpedoes left. Gradually, Janeway  
became aware that all the shooting around them had stopped.  
  
"We're receiving a transmission from the Borg," Kim said.  
  
"Voyager. ..heavy damages upon our fleet. ..discontinue the hostilities..."  
  
The message was so distorted it was difficult to catch the words, but  
Janeway had no doubt as to the meaning behind it.  
  
"Are you saying you wish to surrender?" A burst of static was the only  
response. Janeway turned to Kim. "Harry, can you clean up that  
transmission?"  
  
"I'm trying to, Captain, but it's difficult. Now that the Queen has been  
destroyed, the connections between the drones appear to have been severed."  
  
"I wonder if they can even be considered a Collective any more," Chakotay  
mused.  
  
"The enemy vessels are powering down weapons, Captain," Ayala said.  
  
"Lieutenant Kim, contact the rest of the Alliance fleet," the captain said.  
"This fight is over."  
  
Epilogue  
  
Captain's log. Stardate 54606.6 Our 'final' conflict with the Borg is  
over. Yes, it's over, and unlike many others, we've lived to tell the  
tale.  
  
"Is this seat taken?"  
  
Janeway looked up from the old-fashioned pen and paper she was using to  
record her log and smiled. "Now it is."  
  
"Thanks." Chakotay took a quick look around the room as he seated himself.  
"The Mess Hall crowd is starting to thin out--most people seem ready to call  
it a night. Except you, of course."  
  
"Except me," she agreed and bent her head over her paper once more. He  
didn't seem to think it was strange to find her here, as opposed to her  
Ready Room or quarters. She was grateful, not sure she could really explain  
what impulse had led her here this evening.  
  
He glanced over at what she'd written so far. "'We won, but I'm not sure  
it's not a Pyrrhic victory.'" He sighed softly, and with a hint of reproach  
said, "The Borg as we knew them are finished, Captain."  
  
"They haven't been totally destroyed," she countered.  
  
"But they've been so severely weakened they won't present a threat to anyone  
for a long time." Chakotay took a sip from his mug. "The last of the  
Alliance fleet will be leaving the area in the next six hours. Their next  
stop is the Royal Complex. I think it's safe to assume that there won't be  
any more Queens."  
  
"Perhaps," she said grudgingly. "But it would be too simplistic to assume  
that there won't be other attempts to form a group link, a composite mind.  
Look at Riley's New Cooperative. That type of group consciousness presents  
an attractive alternative, a safe haven, for drones suddenly left  
rudderless. And perhaps they will be the seed from which a new Borg  
Collective will rise once more..."  
  
A shadow crossed his face. "There's always that possibility, of course, but  
I prefer to think that after their recent experiences the drones will value  
their freedom too much for that to happen."  
  
She shook her head. "Ever the optimist, Chakotay."  
  
"You might try it sometime," he said with a smile.  
  
She made a face, but gamely lifted her mug to him in a toast. "Here's hoping  
the survivors of the recent battle have learned something about cooperation  
and will be able to forge a new type of life for themselves that does not  
involve preying on those weaker than themselves."  
  
"Hear, hear."  
  
"On the other hand," she said, her frown returning, "they may not. The  
Trefla provides a disheartening example."  
  
He gave her an exasperated look. "You call that optimism?"  
  
"Realism." She sighed. "And don't forget there's still another Borg fleet  
out there somewhere, although doubtless they've been thrown into chaos with  
the outcome of our battle and the demise of the Queen." She got up and went  
to the viewport. "I think it's a safe assumption that though our part is  
finished, the Borg Civil War will continue for some time."  
  
"Sickbay to Janeway."  
  
Janeway looked up, momentarily startled. She turned away from the window.  
"Go ahead, Doctor."  
  
"I have the final casualty count, Captain. I will have the official report  
on your desk by 0800 tomorrow morning, but I thought you would like to a  
verbal report now."  
  
Janeway shuddered involuntarily. Unobtrusively, Chakotay moved closer to  
her. "Yes, Doctor. Go ahead."  
  
"Altogether 42 crewmen were recipients of medical attention, 28 in Sickbay  
itself, and the remainder at the triage stations set up on decks 6, 10 and  
13. Injuries ranged from slight--cuts and bruises--to more severe. Five  
patients currently remain in Sickbay, including Commander Tuvok who  
sustained third degree burns over 50% of his body. He is resting comfortably  
in a regen chamber at present and should be released from Sickbay in another  
48-72 hours."  
  
Janeway nodded, grateful it wasn't worse. "How is Neelix doing?"  
  
"Mr. Neelix suffered second and third degree burns to his hands and face. A  
bigger problem was smoke inhalation, as he has only one lung. The other  
'guests' are Crewman Morrow, recovering from a crushed clavicle and damaged  
vertebrae and spinal cord, Ensign Lang, who required surgery to remove a  
ruptured spleen and repair a perforated gastrointestinal tract and Ensign  
Tabor, who sustained a subdural hemotamoa. All are expected to make a  
complete recovery."  
  
"That's good to hear," the captain said quietly. "Now tell me the bad news,  
Doctor."  
  
He didn't mince words. "Three deaths: Ensigns Pablo Baytart, Beth Ashmore  
and George Redman." He didn't wait for a response. "Be sure to get some  
rest, Captain. Doctor out."  
  
Janeway took a deep breath, but didn't say anything further.  
  
Chakotay took her hand and pulled her gently toward the table once more.  
"B'Elanna says repairs will be extensive but compared to what we've been  
through lately, shouldn't be too bad--the warp drive will be back online  
again soon and in the meantime we've got impulse power," he said  
reassuringly. He hadn't relinquished his grip on her hand. "We've been  
banged up worse and somehow always come through."  
  
She glanced down at their entwined hands, then back at the endless vista of  
stars. "Yes, we've somehow always come through."  
  
  
  
  
  
FINIS   
  
  
Ghosts and Shadows by Andra Marie and Christina   
While B'Elanna struggles to integrate three alien technologies into one workable   
system and get the transwarp functional, Janeway attempts to reconcile her guilt   
over the lives that have been lost over their nearly 7 year journey. 


End file.
